


Games of Desire

by Casira



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Slash, post-Night Watch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 22:10:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3826822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casira/pseuds/Casira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A late night in the Oblong Office puts a dramatic spin on shifting relationship dynamics.... V/V slash, post-Night Watch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Games of Desire

It was turning into a late night in the Oblong Office.  
  
Sam Vimes, perched on the edge of his chair across the desk from Lord Vetinari, was staring at development plans. He felt edgy and was showing it. The plans were for Vetinari's promised restoration of Treacle Mine Road, and so they included the new Watch House, based on the old plans Drumknott had found somewhere in the city archives. The palace architects had subsequently made their own suggestions, and Vimes was asking for a few new features, and now they were haggling over details, like the rather pointed note that there would be lilac planted by the entrance (a suggestion Vimes found annoyingly transparent). And so he and Vetinari had been debating with increasing intensity, as Vimes' initial monosyllabic replies, meant mostly to fill the silence while he thought up and discarded far snarkier replies, gave way to more impassioned discussion. And Vetinari....  
  
Well, who knew what was going through Vetinari's head. But he was beginning to sound almost amused.  
  
That didn't do much to put Vimes at ease.  
  
"I think we'll have to get one of the old-timers to rig this one up," Vimes was saying. "Professional builders wouldn't intentionally build that sort of window...."  
  
"Well, one might expect that the Guild would get complaints if their windows allowed for trick entrances," Vetinari replied dryly.  
  
"I suppose so," Vimes said, cracking a smile. "I wonder who was responsible for that window in the first place."  
  
"A single individual? Or generations of inventive and devious Watchmen?"  
  
Vimes looked up, not sure from the tone of voice what to read into that, but he saw a near-twinkle in the other man's eyes on the word "devious". Vetinari was actually verging on jokes here. It was... a little odd. He smiled back, vaguely, and pulled a blueprint toward him.  
  
He lost his train of thought entirely at Vetinari's next words.  
  
"I must say, I acquired a certain... appreciation for the policeman's mind when watching Keel," he said, deceptively lightly.  
  
Vimes raised his head; his eyes had gone wider, his posture wary. "What exactly...."  
  
"I took several opportunities to try to figure out what made you tick," Vetinari said. "Excuse me -- what made Sergeant Keel tick." He paused, idly studying an inconsequential note at the bottom of a blueprint. "How much of that, Vimes, was what you remembered of him?"  
  
Vimes paused a moment. Vetinari would have no real memories of Keel, just as Vimes standing in for the man. It felt peculiar, suddenly, to think of a younger Vetinari observing him in that much detail. Following him around the city. Watching his every move....  
  
"I tried to fill in from memory," Vimes said slowly. "After a while, it was me doing what I thought Keel would do. And then what I thought had to be done."  
  
Vetinari smiled a little, as if Vimes had just proven a point. And then, apropos of nothing obvious, he suddenly asked, "And how have you found things, now that you're back?"  
  
Vimes looked back at him. "Uh... about the same."  
  
The Patrician gave him a long, appraising look, clearly weighing the statement. Eventually he arched his eyebrows and said, "I'd imagine family life is a bit different."  
  
"Oh." He cleared his throat. "Well, that, yes."  
  
"How are Sybil and baby Sam?"  
  
Vimes, who was still feeling suspicious of the conversation, at last felt an honest smile cross his face at that. "Sam's doing wonderful. I'm...." He paused, suddenly aware he was about to say something very personal and deeply emotional to this of all people. So he coughed and recalibrated the reply. "I'm constantly suprised by him."  
  
"And your wife?" Vetinari said, gently prodding.  
  
Vimes sat back a little. "Sybil's fine. Just... tired, still. Dr. Lawn's been by since the delivery, and he says she's been doing as well as could be expected. She just doesn't have all her energy back yet."  
  
"And you seem to have too much."  
  
Vimes looked down at his feet, which were, indeed, tapping absently against the floor. He made a face and tried to sit still.  
  
"No doubt you'll find other outlets," Vetinari said.  
  
Vimes blinked. He had to be imagining things, but if he hadn't, a rather strange look had crossed the Patrician's face just then.  
  
He'd seen that sort of look before, but not on Vetinari... and he hadn't expected Vetinari to direct it at him....  
  
But then the moment passed, and Vimes had the odd sensation of a narrow escape. He scooted backward in his chair, realizing he was doing it to back away from Vetinari, who still looked a bit... unusually alert.  
  
He always was alert, of course. Sometimes Vimes was sure the man could see all directions at once, and was paying attention to all of it simultaneously. It was almost impossible to surprise the man; if a pin dropped in one corner of the room, he'd turn to track its movement and have someone dispatched to pick it up before it had stopped chiming and lay still.  
  
He just might turn before it even fell.  
  
Vimes caught himself studying the Patrician as he inscribed a note on the top sheet -- those thin fingers moving across the page, the intent look of concentration, the faint, remaining smile....  
  
I've never really known what's going through his head, Vimes thought. And now here he is, telling me he's been studying me since before he even knew it was me -- and asking me questions he must know the replies to, because he's smirking like I've confirmed he's three steps ahead.  
  
But he also looks like he's still expecting something.  
  
He was set enough on edge by this that he started slipping back into formality as a defense. When Vetinari tossed off a question, inconsequential really, about the building plans, Vimes sighed a little and confirmed it with a quiet, "Yes, sir."  
  
And then Vetinari stared at him -- and laughed.  
  
Vimes stared back. "What?"  
  
Vetinari slid one hand back over his hair, in a surprisingly informal gesture, and then dropped it back onto the desk. "I can't think, Vimes, of the last time you actually called me 'sir'."  
  
"But I usually --"  
  
"Think back," he said, sounding faintly amused. "Do you remember calling me by title any time recently? Think as long as you like."  
  
For a moment, Vimes did -- and came up blank. Pieces of conversation dropped into his head, a sentence or two at a time; and while he certainly remembered hearing his title from Vetinari, he couldn't once remember returning the gesture.  
  
Besides, his head was still cluttered with new memories of the old Ankh-Morpork, and the other gap he wished he could fill: Vetinari then, the young one, the one who watched him so intently without ever being seen. It was oddly difficult to disentangle this conversation from his recent experiences, and he wished fiercely that he knew Vetinari's side of the story.  
  
Of course, Vetinari was watching him awfully intently just now, too, and that look suggested he'd had -- maybe still had -- a certain... fascination....  
  
He swallowed, and tried to reply. "I'm... sorry, sir. Didn't realize I'd left the title out so much."  
  
"Oh, I'm not offended." He smiled a little, leaning forward just a fraction. "Don't feel obligated."  
  
Vimes' eyebrows drew tighter together. "What would you prefer?"  
  
"Just names will do," Vetinari said, still smiling. "Or nothing at all."  
  
And then, the vibe became impossible to miss. Vetinari's voice had dropped, his eyelids slightly lowered....  
  
Vimes' eyes widened again, and he heard himself ask, for lack of anything coherent to say, "Excuse me?"  
  
"Sorry," Vetinari said, not sounding particularly sorry. "I'm perhaps speaking out of turn."  
  
"You never speak out of turn. You don't say anything unless it's perfectly calcluated."  
  
"And what would I be calculating, Vimes?"  
  
How many choices were there, really? The only response Vimes could think of was something that he knew shouldn't be said. He couldn't believe he was even thinking it. But the suggestive look in Vetinari's eyes was making him shift a bit uneasily in his chair, and it took nerve to hold that gaze as he replied, "You tell me."  
  
He honestly wished Vetinari would reply. What seemed to be happening really needed explanation. But all Vetinari did was toss the ball back at him. "I'm not sure it's that difficult to understand."  
  
"You're just trying to get me to admit --"  
  
"Admit? That's an interesting choice of words."  
  
"Or, uh, say...."  
  
"Don't stutter so, Vimes."  
  
He slammed one hand down on the armchair, suddenly fuming. "You're sitting there with that look on your face like you're trying to seduce me, by the gods, what do you expect me to do?"  
  
He was stunned he'd actually used the word -- Vetinari could have done anything in reply. But Vetinari just smiled again at the outburst, as if the anger had satisfied him. The intensity of his gaze as he spoke sent a shudder up Vimes' spine. "What do I expect?" Vetinari repeated. "I'd just been hoping for an honest response."  
  
Vimes nearly growled. "Believe me, I'm responding, but --"  
  
And as he realized just how obvious the implications of that sentence were, Vimes stopped in shock. Vetinari's eyes were, briefly, just as wide; then he regained his composure and pushed back his chair.  
  
Vimes gulped in a breath and then sat very, very still, as his thoughts ground to a panicked halt.  
  
"Interesting that you should say that," said Vetinari, lightly, as he stood up. "I've wondered for a long time if you ever felt any kind of attraction...."  
  
"I... hadn't really... considered...."  
  
"Quite likely not," Vetinari said. He was standing beside his desk, watching impassively as Vimes fidgeted. "You aren't often the sort to articulate your feelings in much detail. Even to yourself, I imagine."  
  
Vimes looked up. The Patrician was incredibly poised, but something in his stance was indicating he was -- waiting for something....  
  
"It was a slip," he managed.  
  
"Something lurking in the back of your mind?"  
  
Vimes shot him a sharper look. "Not so much."  
  
"Ah, it was more prominent, then?"  
  
Vimes stopped. He realized there was heat creeping into his cheeks, and huddled in a little against the flush. "I-- "  
  
"Relax, Vimes," Vetinari said, leaning over to attend to something on his desk. "I'm merely teasing."  
  
Vimes blurted out, "And you've had a habit of teasing since when?"  
  
Vetinari smiled to himself, but made no comment. Vimes watched him shuffle a stack of papers with no apparent intent, reorganize his pens... watched his fingers slide across a line of text on the top sheet, pause, and tap lightly....  
  
Watching those hands....  
  
He felt an odd flare inside him as he stared. Tension -- it had to be just tension --  
  
Or possibly not.  
  
"Maybe it's true," Vimes said wretchedly. "Maybe I was thinking about it. But what choice do I have? I'm married, you're the -- the --"  
  
"Ruler of all in the city?"  
  
"Yes...."  
  
"Who could control anyone's fate?" Vetinari said, his voice low and even. "Change any of the rules?"  
  
"I.... suppose," Vimes said, worrying, now, about what Vetinari meant to do to him. But then Vetinari spoke again:  
  
"I'm not the only one with power in this city, Vimes."  
  
Vimes realized he was standing. His hands were clenched at his sides, his whole body tensed. Vetinari stood there, implacable, unshakable, barely moving, but his eyes -- oh, gods, his eyes -- something burned there, lighting the icy blue until it was nearly incandescent.  
  
"So if you felt you had a choice," Vetinari said, quietly, "what, then, would you do?"  
  
There were a few seconds of almost unbearable tension where everything, even the air, seemed to still.  
  
And then Vimes moved, entirely despite himself; one foot forward, then the other, momentum gaining as he approached, as if it were flooding up through his body, moving his arms for him -- for he'd crossed the floor and suddenly his hands were on Vetinari's shoulders, shoving him backward, pinning him against the wall.  
  
And then he kept moving forward, until there was simply no space between them --  
  
Oh, gods...  
  
The kiss just seemed to happen. There was no moment of decision, no intention, not even clarity on who'd moved first... just the sudden, fierce pressure of Vetinari's lips on his, Vimes' hands on either side of his face, holding him there.  
  
\-- but what am I doing, what am I _doing_ , why aren't I -- why isn't he -- I practically attacked -- he should be defending himself --  
  
He suddenly jerked his hands aside, slapped them against the wall and pushed himself backward, arms ramrod straight with tension. Vetinari, whose hands were still on Vimes' shoulders, stared at him with heavy-lidded eyes, breathing hard.  
  
"What the hell are you doing?" Vimes demanded. "You --"  
  
"You obviously moved first," Vetinari said.  
  
"You didn't stop me!"  
  
Vetinari's lips curled upward in a smile. "Wasn't aware... I was supposed to." His voice was slow, throaty, disturbingly sensual. Vimes was still close enough to feel it vibrate straight through his nerves.  
  
Warning signals pricked at him as he realized he was beginning to respond to it. His elbows had buckled; he'd stumbled closer....  
  
Vetinari's fingers, which had been still on his shoulders, began to slide in slow, enticing patterns. Vimes had a panicked moment of realizing how close those hands were to his throat -- if he made one wrong move, said the wrong thing....  
  
And then he felt just what Vetinari's nimble fingers were doing, and lost a breath in a shuddering gasp.  
  
"What... what is this...."  
  
Vetinari slid his hands up along Vimes' neck and cradled the back of his head, pulling him forward until their lips touched once more. Vetinari's were slightly parted; the kiss had hardly gone a few seconds before his tongue was teasing at Vimes' lips, exploring his mouth, drawing out what little was left of his breath.  
  
Vimes, dazed, dropped his hands back onto Vetinari's shoulders and then slid lower, against Vetinari's chest. He could feel the man's heartbeat thud faster.  
  
"This," Vetinari murmured against Vimes' lips, "is clearly something you desire...."  
  
Vimes suddenly wanted to wrench himself away, but a little voice in his head, noting the presence of Vetinari's hands, insisted that the Patrician could so easily just snap his neck....  
  
The Patrician. The Patrician of Ankh-Morpork, the most powerful man on the Disc, whose pulse was hammering so quickly that it was blurring beneath Vimes' fingers, whose breath came trembling against Vimes' skin....  
  
" _You_ want this," Vimes said, trying desperately to find his footing in an accusation. "You're practically shaking --"  
  
Vetinari moved one hand away. Vimes tried to find the space to breathe, but then the fingertips trailed along his jaw, traced the scar that sliced slantwise across his eye. Vimes felt himself moving under the touch, trying to increase the pressure. "As are you," Vetinari whispered.  
  
Vimes gasped as those fingers touched his lips, so softly -- and then he finally pushed away, breathing so hard it was hard to form words. "This can't be happening...."  
  
Vetinari followed him step by step as Vimes backed away, calmly reminding him, "You made it happen."  
  
Vimes felt a fresh surge of anger -- oh, gods, he hoped it was anger -- well up inside him. "But you were practically--"  
  
Vetinari reached a hand out; Vimes smacked it away. Vetinari's eyes widened. Vimes, for just a moment, felt horrified -- he'd just actually struck the Patrician --  
  
And then Vetinari gave him a dangerous smile, somehow angry and suggestive all at once. "So what are you going to do next?"  
  
Vimes almost groaned aloud at the force of the urge to obliterate that smile -- and then did moan, desperately, as the only non-suicidal choice pushed him forward into another kiss.  
  
His hands slid through Vetinari's hair, down his chest and around his waist, fingers digging into his back as he pulled the man back against him. This time, they were both moving, shifting against each other, and Vimes heard Vetinari moan as his hips suddenly pushed closer against Vimes' body. The fierce pressure made Vimes' eyes flash open, staring almost blindly as the world seemed to tilt around them.  
  
Vetinari pulled back for just a moment, just enough to have room to move as he pressed kisses down Vimes' throat, lingering there to feel the involuntary sounds of pleasure vibrate through his skin.  
  
"Don't try to pretend," Vetinari said there, his voice dark. "You know you want this...."  
  
"Damn you," Vimes whispered, barely able to speak, as a shudder shook its way up his body. "Oh, damn you for t... oh... _gods..."_  
  
Vetinari had just slid a hand over Vimes' cock.  
  
For a moment there was nothing but blind sensation, a jolt that may as well have been a lightning bolt to the spine. His back arched as he let out a moan half of passion, half of panic at his own reaction.  
  
Vetinari slowly backed him against the opposite wall. One hand, his free hand, was questing against the knots in the wood for something that eventually made a soft, distinct click. The other was rubbing against the leather of Vimes' breeches, maddeningly slowly, until Vimes groaned aloud and caught Vetinari's hand in his own.  
  
Vetinari let out a small chuckle.  
  
And somehow, that was what it took to push the panic back into something else entirely --  
  
Vimes clenched his teeth and squeezed his fingers tightly around Vetinari's wrist, twisting until Vetinari let out a gasp.  
  
"This is not," he said between his teeth, "how this is going to go."  
  
He saw something flash in Vetinari's eyes. Before the Patrician had a chance to move, Vimes demanded, "What is that, back there?" He jerked his head toward the panel that had slid aside in the wall.  
  
"A passage," Vetinari said. "To my chambers."  
  
"You expect me to --"  
  
Well, of course he did. The look in his eyes was all too clear. Vimes flung the hand aside and put his own hands to his face, pulling in a long breath. He felt a touch on his forearms, and shook his head fiercely; the touch withdrew.  
  
"What is it?" the other man asked.  
  
What was it? Everything. Him. His family. This man, standing before him, coaxing him into the impossible. This terrible, unasked-for yearning, pounding through his veins...  
  
A mad thread of laughter snaked up through his throat; he dropped his hands and let it loose, listening as it shook into something almost frightening.  
  
And then he caught Vetinari by the shoulders and drew him through the doorway.  
  
The passage was dim, after the door closed behind them; Vimes didn't know where to place his feet, where to turn, but let Vetinari guide him, and was silently thankful for once that he couldn't quite see what he was doing, as his fingers sought out the other man in the dark. They kept stopping, pressing up against each other, beginning to fumble with each other's clothing. By the time Vetinari pulled away to open the door at the other side, Vimes was undoing the last of his shirt buttons; Vetinari pulled the fabric off his shoulders in the same motion as drawing him inside.  
  
He took only a few long, sure strides to move Vimes across the room, and Vimes couldn't help an ironic laugh as the Patrician pushed him onto the bed; the instant he hit the covers, he could hear the door click closed behind them.  
  
How... symbolic....  
  
Vetinari watched the laugh escape Vimes' lips and then bent down to catch it with his own, so slowly this time, exploring his mouth with his tongue and then drifting lower against the bare skin of his chest. Vimes allowed it for a moment, trembling with pleasure, then pushed himself back up and grasped at Vetinari's collar.  
  
"This," he said low in his throat, "is coming off first..."  
  
There was no grace to it, just tugging at the fabric until it complied. Vetinari's head tilted back as Vimes lost patience halfway through and just slid his hands beneath the shirt, stroking the skin, and then suddenly hit something at waist level --  
  
Vetinari's hand reached back and grasped Vimes' fingers, which were in turn curling around the handle of something small, concealed and incredibly wicked.  
  
"If that's what I think it is..." Vimes managed between gasps.  
  
Vetinari made a wholly unreassuring smile. He tugged slowly at Vimes' hand, making him draw the knife from its sheath. Its tip scraped ever so lightly against Vetinari's skin as it withdrew, which made him shiver inch by inch until they'd pulled it away....  
  
"We banned those a year ago," Vimes breathed, staring at the tiny, lethal thing, glinting in the near-darkness of the room.  
  
"Go on, then," Vetinari said, edging closer. "Arrest me."  
  
"Not what I'm interested in doing," Vimes growled, and took the knife from his hand, hurling it across the room where it thudded into a wooden cabinet with unnerving precision.  
  
If he'd wanted to, Vimes thought, if I'd provoked him in any way, if he'd reacted badly when I shoved him up against that wall, I'd be dead seven ways over....  
  
But Vetinari clearly didn't want him dead. He simply wanted him.  
  
The thought alone made him shut his eyes and gasp.  
  
Vetinari, pulling away his shirt and flinging it aside, took advantage of the blind moment to grasp Vimes' hands and slide them against his own chest. Vimes caught his breath and looked again, watching as his hands took on a life of their own, stroking the wiry muscles, tracing around the nipples until, this time, Vetinari moaned.  
  
"Gods above," he breathed, staring at the ceiling.  
  
"I'm more interested," Vimes heard himself say, as one hand skidded lower, "in what's below...."  
  
There was a laugh that dissolved into an incoherent moan as Vimes' hand closed over what he'd been seeking.  
  
Vetinari moved involuntarily under the touch, trying to press closer. Vimes maneuvered back on the bed, making the other man follow, and then stretched lengthwise. Vetinari did the same, moving one leg over him and rubbing close in a way that made Vimes arch upwards, pressing them together even tighter in all the right places.  
  
Then Vetinari pushed him back down, and started feeling for the last remaining fastenings that kept any boundaries between them.  
  
Vimes let him do it. But a small part of him, still dazed and disoriented beneath the haze of desire, cried out in sudden panic as Vetinari's hand slid underneath the leather and pushed it away, pulled it down his legs and off, exposing him completely; and then again as Vetinari pulled back, doing the same to himself. The sight sent a convulsion of lust and confusion through him; there was nothing left to do but the obvious --  
  
\-- and, suddenly, he wasn't sure he could go through with it --  
  
Vetinari bent down, stroking the sensitive skin directly, until Vimes was crying out a string of demands and curses, writhing beneath him. And then -- later, he wasn't sure what he'd said that made Vetinari do this -- the other man paused, looking down into Vimes' eyes with some concern.  
  
"Are you--" he began, holding himself still, though his breaths still came almost violently.  
  
"Just -- I -- no...." He broke off, desperate. "I don't know."  
  
Vetinari kissed him silent, then pulled back up. The pressure of the Patrician's body against his had lightened, but not, despite his frantic thoughts, the remaining sensation of urgency. "I don't suspect you've ever done this," Vetinari murmured.  
  
He shut his eyes. Oh gods, no.... never, not once. He'd not even thought about it, not really --  
  
\-- except for moments, wild ones, staring Vetinari down, tense and trembling and wanting to do something, anything --  
  
He couldn't say it. Vetinari watched the thoughts spin behind his eyes and stroked the hair away from Vimes' forehead, clearly still trembling from his own need, but holding it back. "There's a first time for everything," he said.  
  
Something in the tone of his voice brought Vimes up short. He stared up, eyebrows knit. "And you?" was all he could say.  
  
It was enough. The look that flashed across Vetinari's face said it all -- the last remaining bit of surprise at himself, dark-edged second thoughts, and yet a yearning so great it stopped Vimes' breath --  
  
They lay there, suddenly on an even playing field, neither knowing who should move first. It was, in the end, Vetinari. He smiled a little, slowly, mysteriously, and slid down the length of Vimes' body to attend to his erection with those nimble fingers --  
  
\-- and then his lips --  
  
Vimes shouted out, clenching at the sheets with both hands as Vetinari caressed the skin. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe -- everything inside him wanted to scream --  
  
It had never been like this. Not like this crazy, intense, insane feeling of the entire world falling away, nothing but this mad pleasure that threatened to burn him away....  
  
He shook under Vetinari's touch, helpless, powerless...  
  
...and then, suddenly, as he realized Vetinari had taken total control, he was angry again. At himself? At Vetinari? He couldn't tell. But something in him rebelled, and despite the cresting pleasure about to break over him, he shoved back.  
  
Vetinari actually looked surprised.  
  
And Vimes, with a fierce surge of energy that surprised him too, pulled Vetinari down beside him, back to front.  
  
As if in response to some unspoken joke, Vetinari laughed.  
  
Vimes was somewhere beyond anything resembling rational thought, except for the tiny thread of memories that was telling him -- in much less pleasant anecdotes, the sort you hear as a policeman -- how this was done. The dissonance of it almost broke his will, until he felt Vetinari's slow motions against him, saw his hand moving between his legs, realized he was breathing harder and faster, wanting this --  
  
His fingers pressed first, hesitantly, bringing a sharp gasp. Realizing it was half of pain, or anticipation of it, he paused.  
  
"Do you--"  
  
"Please, Vimes," he whispered back, shuddering.  
  
The "please" shook him. The name shook him. Faced with the full force of his identity at this of all times, Vimes shook his head, even as he gripped Vetinari's hips, beginning to move. "Not that -- not now..." he whispered.  
  
And, feeling as if he were throwing away the last remnant of his sanity, he pushed in.  
  
Vetinari jerked, crying out, but Vimes held him, moving carefully until they'd found a rhythm. Soon they were both making involuntary cries as the intensity grew almost unbearable.  
  
"I... faster..." Vetinari began. The friction burned everywhere they touched. "For the love of -- oh, Vi--"  
  
Vimes jerked at the syllable and choked out, "No. No names."  
  
"Scared?" Vetinari breathed, as he shoved back against him, demanding more. The move nearly set Vimes screaming. It was too much, just too much, he couldn't hold it any longer --  
  
He took a desperate breath, held it, and moved for one more sharp thrust.  
  
Vetinari convulsed against him. Vimes saw his head jerk back, could practically feel, even though he couldn't see, as the other man's lips moved, shaping a word --  
  
His last little shred of coherent thought said, Oh, gods, he's going to say it --  
  
\-- scream it --  
  
_"Sam --"  
  
_ The world exploded.  
  
  
  
\----  
  
  
  
It was some moments after, and Vimes, now alone in the bed, stared at the ceiling and ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. The world still felt foggy, indistinct, strangely distant. It took considerable thought to pull together words, and even those came as a question.  
  
"What did we just do?" he said.  
  
The reply came from across the room. Vimes looked slantwise at the tall silhouette beside the window. "I believe one could call it a... battle of wills, Commander."  
  
A brief silence stretched out before Vimes asked, "Who won?"  
  
There was a short, sharp laugh. Vimes shut his eyes, then opened them again, just in time to see Vetinari, wrapped in a black dressing robe, turn to face him. No one would notice unless they knew the man well, but he was (oh, gods) moving just a slight bit carefully.  
  
"Who won?" Vetinari repeated, sounding darkly amused. "I think you proved that point yourself."  
  
Vimes didn't want to think about it. Oh, gods, did he not want to think about it. But there was that infuriating chuckle again, so suggestive, so I-dare-you-to-make-something-of-this, and despite his best intentions he propped himself up on both elbows and said, "And you wanted it, obviously."  
  
Vetinari looked back at him, guileless. "Your meaning?"  
  
"Everything that happened tonight, you planned," Vimes growled. "All those double entendres, the sideways looks, the hints you dropped all night just to get me wound up...."  
  
"I regularly wind people up, Vimes," he said dryly. "Usually it doesn't culminate in quite this fashion."  
  
"So why now? Why _this?"_  
  
Vetinari turned away. Vimes pushed himself the rest of the way upwards. The sheets slid to his waist as he sat up, exposing his skin to the cold air; he shivered once but said nothing, and just waited.  
  
"We both brought it here," Vetinari said. Vimes let out a snort of disbelief, but Vetinari raised a hand to halt him. Vimes flushed as he realized how closely he was watching Vetinari's fingers curl back down against his palm. "You've gained much power in this city, Vimes. What part of it I granted was not by accident. I daresay I've had some hand in shaping your character; we've certainly played against each other to dramatic effect during certain, ah, past events. But the changes you've made of your own volition -- the influence you've had...."  
  
Vetinari shot a disconcertingly direct gaze at Vimes. "Can you imagine what went through my head when I realized you'd stood in for Sergeant Keel? When I realized the man I'd so closely observed, preserved, even admired, I will admit, as a young man, was _you?_ I can't say what effect the real Keel would have had on me, how different he may have been -- I hold no memories that can tell me of the differences -- but Keel fascinated me; and it gives the present day a strange slant, wondering how entangled we've become in each other."  
  
Vimes stared right back. He'd wanted to snap back at Vetinari that his personality was his _own,_ that Vetinari hadn't simply manipulated him as they went (or at least, that he wasn't the only factor), but the thought hadn't occurred to him that he may have had some influence on Vetinari thirty years ago....  
  
...and that this might have been a subtle change in history, something that made Vetinari look at him differently, something that honestly helped lead to this...?  
  
"We're not equals," Vetinari said distantly, turning back to the window. "Not by rank or responsibility, or by any wish to make it so. But on a personal level, we are as closely matched as two men can be, I sometimes think."  
  
"You still hold the real power," Vimes said. "We both know you could destroy me with the stroke of a pen...."  
  
His voice caught a little. Vetinari looked at him curiously; Vimes made a face and looked away. "There are still laws on the books about what we just did, you know," he muttered. "Not that we ever enforce them, but...."  
  
Vetinari's eyes were wide. "Is that your fear? That I manipulated you into your own downfall? Why would I do such a thing?"  
  
"All the times I've gone over your head and against your wishes...."  
  
"Then you truly misunderstand me," Vetinari said softly.  
  
Something in Vetinari's voice brought Vimes up short. He looked back at the Patrician, dressed in his simple, shabby robe, standing by the window. It was maddening, in a way -- just another example, however subtle, of the balance of power here -- that in order to face him, Vimes would have to go to him, not vice versa, and stand there unshielded. But after a hesitant moment with the blankets, Vimes finally just pushed them aside and walked up to Vetinari, stopping in plain view and staring him full in the face.  
  
"So what is this, really?" he asked. "Is this just a power play or do you really mean you..." He couldn't quite manage the next word, whatever it was meant to be.  
  
Vetinari moved a step closer. "I told you you fascinated me, did I not?"  
  
Vimes swallowed. "You said Keel did...."  
  
"I believe the two of you think much alike."  
  
"And the two of us?"  
  
"More than you think we do."  
  
Vimes felt himself step once toward the other man, despite himself. "It's all still a game," he said, to himself as much as Vetinari. "Just trying to get around each other's defenses...."  
  
"What do you think you'll find," Vetinari said softly, "if you breach mine?"  
  
Vimes suddenly found it hard to think straight. He stared back into Vetinari's eyes. "Whatever part of you doesn't have an immediate answer for everything. The part that has second thoughts and wonders about ethics and gets angry and laughs and wants to scream at the stupidity of the world...."  
  
"The part that sounds like you," Vetinari said.  
  
Vimes flinched, but it was oddly true.  
  
"And you..." Vetinari mused aloud, stepping closer once more. "You, under the surface -- the forces you don't ever want to release -- the yearnings and fears you're so terrified you won't be able to control...."  
  
Vimes braced himself. "I keep that under control for a reason."  
  
"It's not all violence, despite what you think," Vetinari said. He gave the other man a significant look. "And it's not just a game. I know you feel something -- because I suspect it, too, is all too much a part of me -- and I want you to tell me what it is."  
  
Vimes drew in a breath. It was going to be damn obvious soon, if Vetinari got any closer. This was so hard to say.... "I would say confusion, and blind terror, but it isn't," he said at last. "I wish I were scared. Scared would make sense. Furious would make sense. But I look at you right now and all I can think of is --"  
  
The word broke in his mouth; Vetinari had slid one arm around his waist and rested the other hand on his cheek, and had leaned his head so close that he murmured his next words against Vimes' lips. "Say it," he whispered.  
  
He could feel Vetinari's breath, the faster rhythm of his pulse, the warmth radiating just a fraction of an inch away -- the air felt charged, as if it were ready to crackle into lightning -- his own skin tingled, the blood hammered, every movement felt redefined, electrified --  
  
"Desire," he whispered --  
  
\-- and nearly collapsed at the ferocity of Vetinari's sudden kiss.  
  
Vetinari's hand slid around the back of his head; the other held Vimes tightly against him, supporting him until his knees steadied. For a moment, there was only delirium; then the daze of sensation burned away in a surge of energy and he responded in kind. Vetinari moaned low in his throat as Vimes' tongue thrust into his mouth.  
  
When Vimes' hands reached for the lacings of the other man's robe, he felt Vetinari pull back slightly, just enough for a laugh. "So you do want this still...."  
  
"Gods help me, yes," Vimes said, and slid his hands under the robe.  
  
This wasn't like the first time. This time Vimes had a chance to think, not simply react, and he moved more sensually, making Vetinari shudder as the fabric slid away and he followed it with his fingers, his lips, with skin brushing close. This time he noticed the Patrician's stomach muscles clench in a shuddering gasp as he trailed down even lower. This time --  
  
"Oh, gods," Vetinari whispered, as Vimes' mouth slid over him.  
  
This wasn't, some perpetually detached part of his mind thought, exactly easy; he wasn't accustomed to doing this, and reflexes alone could so easily upset his intentions... but soon his own growing pleasure demanded more, wanted Vetinari in deeper. Shaking, he moved forward, feeling Vetinari grow even harder under his touch.  
  
"Don't stop," Vetinari moaned, trembling now. "Don't... get any ideas again before...."  
  
Unexpectedly, the words made Vimes' lips curl upward around the other man's cock in a thoroughly nasty smile. Trying as hard as he could to exert control -- or at least pretend he knew what he was doing -- he pulled back slowly, tongue and lips caressing the full length of Vetinari's shaft as he moved. Then, after one shuddering breath, he teased the tip with his tongue before preparing to return --  
  
They both thrust forward together as Vetinari let out a desperate moan. His hands reached out for Vimes' hair, his shoulders, anything he could touch. Vimes' right hand slid up along the side of Vetinari's leg, then around the back, pressing him even closer, while the other reached for his own erection; soon the strokes with hands and lips alike began to take on speed, intensity, an almost painful urgency.  
  
"Please -- just... yes... oh, gods, there...." Vetinari's hips bucked once, twice, then suddenly faster.  
  
The pleading words set fireworks along Vimes' spine. He wanted more than anything to reply, to force him into demanding the last steps of release; but, well, he was occupied, and his own was so nearly complete. But what was it going to take to make Vetinari crack -- ?  
  
Memory threw back his own words: touch the part of him behind the wall, the part that gets angry and laughs and wants to scream -- surprise him --  
  
In a crazy flash of inspiration -- almost, he thought, silly, but what the hell -- Vimes stopped what he was doing, making Vetinari moan in frustration. Still enclosing him in his mouth, but not moving against him save for Vetinari's involuntary thrusts, he slid his hand back down the other man's leg, paused, and then, just as he made one more long, torturously intimate pass along his shaft, gave him a sharp, teasing tickle behind the knee.  
  
The sudden jolt to his nerves made Vetinari burst out in shocked laughter -- and all at once, he came, roughly crying out and then laughing even louder, clutching at Vimes' shoulders as the man beneath him gripped himself and rocked with a simultaneous explosion of sensation.  
  
When the climax had crashed over them both, Vimes pulled back, still swallowing hard, and stared up at Vetinari. His head was still thrown back, his lips parted as he gasped in breaths -- and so he didn't see as Vimes, smiling mischeviously, reached up to tickle in an even more sensitive place.  
  
He really gasped then, and his knees buckled. Vimes chuckled and pulled him down all the way, coming down with a thump atop Vetinari's discarded robe with the length of the taller man's body pressed deliciously close.  
  
"Finally," Vimes muttered as he stretched out. "My knees are getting too old for this."  
  
Vetinari made a noise that, for anyone else, would have been an amused chuckle; for him it was nearly a giggle. And then Vimes stopped it with another kiss -- this one slow, deep, without expectations.  
  
Well, he thought, as Vetinari sank into the kiss and gently stroked his chest with one thin hand. That certainly broke the tension -- not that he couldn't get it built back up again if he keeps touching me like that...  
  
He laughed a little, and another thought tagged along: But we're _definitely_ too old to be doing this this many times in a row, on the floor no less....  
  
Vetinari raised his head at the laugh, giving Vimes a curious smile. Vimes raised his eyebrows. "What?"  
  
"You," said Vetinari, his voice lazy with sated passion. "I must confess I didn't see that coming."  
  
"And that," said Vimes, smiling back, "is where _my_ power lies."  
  
Vetinari gave him another look. Vimes propped himself up and obliged with an elaboration. "It's that part of my head" -- he raised a finger and tapped his temple -- "that you just can't get to. No matter how much you seem to read everyone's minds, I've always known it's there."  
  
"I've always banked on your unpredictability," Vetinari said. "I've known it's there, too. I've used it more than once."  
  
"Yes, but even you don't know what the results will be."  
  
"No," Vetinari said, looking down at Vimes and smiling, amused again. "I'd hoped for something tonight. But this...."  
  
They leaned forward almost as one, into a kiss that sent a flood of pleasure through every possible nerve. And then Vimes realized his eyelids were growing heavy, hard to prop back open when Vetinari pulled back...  
  
"Maybe we ought to get back to the bed," he suggested drowsily.  
  
Vetinari nodded and helped him up. They made the few paces back across the room, and Vimes sank into the bed with an evident sigh of comfort. Then he looked up at Vetinari, who had yet to do the same.  
  
It was really the first good look he'd had at the man -- that long and pale figure, subtly strong, honed by years of dangerous training and still poised as if he could turn to strike at any second. In his own strange way, there was something beautiful about him. Vimes wondered, fleetingly, what Vetinari thought when he looked at him -- if there was another mirror at work, a similar fascination....  
  
And then he remembered the looks Vetinari had given him earlier, the ones that started all this, and realized it had to be true.  
  
Of all the things Vimes realized he ought to be thinking, "I can't believe this is happening" had to be atop the list. Certainly it had been there not so long ago -- he'd gone on a endless number of pendulum swings to denial and back just within the first few moments. But now he honestly could believe it was happening. And he wasn't sure what to make of that yet. He sighed and let his eyes drift back up to meet Vetinari's again.  
  
"Are you coming?" Vimes asked.  
  
There was a pause. "Not quite yet," Vetinari said. "I'd get your rest."  
  
Vimes looked at him skeptically, but the other man just smiled and turned to retrieve his robe from the floor, shrugging it back around his shoulders in one fluid motion. He was soon back at the window where he'd begun, gazing out into the distance and into some unguessable line of thought.  
  
Vimes leaned back, eyes drifting shut despite himself. Point to Vetinari, then, he thought. And the game -- if game this is -- is still anyone's to claim....  
  
He settled back into the pillows, feeling, or maybe just imagining, Vetinari's piercing blue eyes on him as he began to drift off into sleep. And then, there was just quiet darkness.  
  
Until some hours later, he felt a warmth against him, and an arm curl possessively around his waist.  
  
He smiled a little, half-asleep, and shifted closer; and then they both waited to see what this game, or power play, or whatever deeper, indefinable need it was, would become, come morning.

 


End file.
